


Aziraphale, angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality

by WolfInTheShadows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20428178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfInTheShadows/pseuds/WolfInTheShadows
Summary: How is it that there's supposed to be a cherub with a flaming sword guarding the Gate of Eden, but the closest there is, is a Principality who gave their sword away?Or how Aziraphale ended up as a Principality on Earth.Edit: Eventual romance because the ineffable husbands went off and made things complicated.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Short chapters expanding on my headcanon that Aziraphale started out as a cherub.  
Not yet quite finished, or finished. I'm not quite sure about that myself.  
Let me know what you think.

Not that any scholar in the last 6,000 years had learnt the truth. The truth that the angel of the Eastern Gate, the one that was said to be a cherub, wasn't even close in rank.

The small technicality with the flaming sword aside. No one had to know about that.

But why then was there no cherub at the gate of Eden?

Firstly, because there was no gate.

Secondly, and more importantly, because the angel that had been posted there was, strictly speaking, not a cherub. Not anymore, at least. And he hadn't been for a long time.

But to fully understand why that is, we need to go back. Back to the time of the First War in Heaven. The time when Satan was cast out.


	2. The War

The First War in Heaven had been bloody. Satan and his followers had fought admirably. But in the end, they were cast out.

Aziraphale had been in the throne room beside the Almighty's throne. Together with his siblings protecting the Almighty from harm.

His flaming sword at his side. He never raised it to strike at the other angels that were coming into the room.

He knew that he shouldn't refer to them as angels anymore. The Almighty had named them demons. But most of them had been angels that Aziraphale knew. They had been his family. He couldn't kill his family. He just couldn't.

And then Satan had stood before him and demanded to be let through to the throne, lest he kill everyone in his way.

Aziraphale had half-heartedly raised his sword in defense. His wings thrown back behind him. His eyes closed.

He was ready for the blow that would end his existence. For when an angel, fallen or otherwise, killed another angel with their sword, they were destroying the victim.

But the blow never came. He opened his eyes when he heard grunting. Michael had swooped down on Satan and was engaging him in a battle one celestial being to another.

Aziraphale all but ran from the immediate battle radius. He would've fled the room, but his duty forbade it.

In the end, Michael had wrestled Satan to the ground and was about to deliver the final blow, when the Almighty rose from the throne, halting the whole fighting all at once.

She let Satan stand before her and just asked why. His answer made her smile.

And so it happened that Satan and his associates were cast out of Heaven and Hell was created.

Aziraphale wondered why he himself hadn't been cast out, too. He had not even so much as raised his weapon directly against another being.

And he had sympathy for the Fallen. He couldn't imagine a world without the Almighty's light in it.

He didn't think about it too long. After all, it had been asking questions that had had started the war in the first place.

So, he had sheathed his sword and went back to his place beside the throne.


	3. The Garden

Aziraphale stood upon the wall around a newly created Eden. God had just created the humans.

He watched them. They were so fragile. He wanted to see them grow and prosper. He smiled lovingly.

"They are quite vulnerable, aren't they?" The Almighty had appeared next to him. He immediately dropped to one knee and bowed in respect.

"Oh, Aziraphale, do get up." He rose again but averted his gaze out of respect. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Yes, Lord, how can I help?" He was eager to please.

"I've noticed that you are sad. Why is that?"

"I miss them. I know, I shouldn't but I miss them. They were family after all. They were a part of us all."

"But sometimes a part needs to be cut off so that the rest can survive." The Almighty indulged him.

"I know that. It's just…" Aziraphale knew that the rest of the sentence could make him fall. He prudently silenced himself.

The Almighty looked him over. Considered this angel, this cherub, next to them.

"You never killed anything in the war." It was a statement. "You stood there and refused to kill your former brethren."

Aziraphale looked to the floor shamefully. This was it now. The moment before his fall. He readied himself as best as he could for it.

"I guess, I'm just too soft to be a warrior."

The Almighty was slightly confused and that rarely happened.

"Don't you like your position?" She had appointed Aziraphale as one of her personal cherubs. He was allowed to stand directly beside her throne. There were angels who would do almost anything for such a position. Those that got too overzealous with that were swiftly dealt with; but nevertheless.

"I do. It's just, I don't think I quite fit in with the others." He looked out over the garden.

In the distance, an ox had just shoved Adam over. Aziraphale's grip on his sword tightened instinctively.

The Almighty noticed the change in the angel's mannerisms immediately. She looked around in expectancy of danger to herself but found nothing.

Following where the angel's gaze rested on the humans, she had an idea what could help the cherub beside her.

She smiled.


	4. On the Rest of Their Lives

Crowley was suddenly not remembering at all what he was looking for.

He looked at the ring between his fingers. It was Aziraphale's signet ring. Of course, Crowley had noticed that he'd taken it off some time ago.

Holding it in his hands drove the significance home that by taking it off, Aziraphale had finally seceded from Heaven.

He looked at it, turned it over and studied the seal. He had never paid much mind to it; it was never really important to him.

Looking at the seal, Crowley noticed that it was the seal of cherubs, in particular the personal guard of the Almighty's. Why did Aziraphale have a ring with that seal? He had always been a Principality, hadn't he? A protector of humans. Just a lowly grub in the grand scheme of things.

And then something else entered Crowley's mind. The flaming sword. Aziraphale had had a flaming sword.

Principalities weren't issued a flaming sword. Only the highest warriors were given those, namely cherubs.

Could it be that Aziraphale had been a cherub?

Crowley wondered what must've happened that Aziraphale was demoted to Principality.

He frowned. But if Aziraphale had been demoted, wouldn't that have meant he'd have to surrender his sword and ring? Something wasn't right here. Nothing fit together. He would have to ask for what it all meant.

Crowley walked back into the front of the bookshop where Aziraphale was reading and enjoying a cup of cocoa, still holding the ring like a treasure.

"Care to explain this, Angel?" Crowley held up the ring.

Aziraphale took a glancing look at it and went back to his book. "I took it off some time ago. Seeing as we are on our side now, I didn't think I'd need it anymore."

"Yes, I noticed that. That's not what I meant." Crowley sputtered but calmed himself down again. "I meant why you have this ring."

He saw Aziraphale take a breath to answer. "And before you say that it signified your alliance with Heaven, shut it. I want to know why you have a ring with the seal of the Almighty's personal cherub guard on it."

"Ah." Aziraphale breathed, closed his book and put it away. Crowley got nervous. The angel never put a good book down when he was in the middle of it. Never. And that book was one of his favorites.

Aziraphale got up and walked over to where Crowley still held up the ring. He gently took it from him, looked at it and sighed with a melancholic expression. "It's a long story, my dear. Let's sit down."


	5. An Explanation 6,000 Years in the Making

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully blame a friend of mine for the arising drama at the end. I could've wrapped this up nicely in this chapter but then the husbands decided to do what they do best and derail neatly laid plans. And then my friend had to point out that Crowley is absolutely a dramaqueen, so yeah... sorry...

They had sat down at the table in the backroom and Aziraphale had basically reintroduced himself to Crowley.

"My full title is Principality Aziraphale, protector of humanity and the Eastern Gate, former cherub and former member of the Almighty's personal guard."

"So, you are the protector of the Eastern Gate?" Crowley still tried to come to grips with all the new information the angel had relayed to him.

"Yes and no. You see, I sealed the gate and soon after the Almighty had decided to put Eden onto a different plane of existence altogether. So, I was free to go. Naturally I followed Adam and Eve and saw how they went on. Their sons and daughters were under my protection."

"They were growing rapidly in numbers the first thousand years. You couldn't possibly protect them all. I didn't have to do much to tempt. They were messing up left, right and center. Not as independently as today but still."

"That was probably the reason for the flood. And Sodom and Gomorrah. And Babel, come to think of it." Aziraphale grimaced.

"Possibly. Although I kept as far away from Sodom and Gomorrah as possible and always thought it to be one of ours. Never been a fan of fire and brimstone personally." Crowley sniffled.

"Maybe it was a cooperation. Anyway, after all that was said and done, I went around the world a bit. Came back when I heard the son of God was walking the Earth. Absolutely thought it to be a hoax, to be honest."

"It wasn't a hoax. It really was him. Or, you know, as close as you could get. He was definitely an enlightened, bright young man." Crowley had to smile despite himself.

"You knew him better than I did. I should've been there from the start."

"Wouldn't've made a difference I'm afraid. He knew his way and even I couldn't tempt him away from it. That's probably the reason why I showed him the world. He didn't have much opportunity outside his fate."

"That should've been me. But I just wasn't there." Aziraphale was folding in on himself; self-doubts gnawing at him.

"Come on, Angel. You were never bad at your job. You always gave your best. And anyway, maybe it was all part of the plan." Crowley hated to see Aziraphale so downtrodden.

"You think?" Aziraphale looked up hopeful.

"I know." Crowley said it with so much conviction in his voice that even the Almighty would've believed him.

Aziraphale practically lit up. "Oh, oh, thank you. I always worried about it."

"Don't." Crowley beamed at his angel. He loved when Aziraphale smiled, especially when he was the reason. "But what I still don't quite understand is why Heaven treated you so poorly when you were such a high-ranking angel. The archangels should've been quaking in their loafers. You were a cherub."

"Ah, about that. They don't remember."

"But even as Principality you outrank them." Crowley was ready to kick someone's butt.

"Look at me. And then compare that to Gabriel or even Sandalphon. They're all hard in their own way. And I'm-" Aziraphale closed his eyes resigned. "Well, I'm soft."

Crowley's impression of a fish on dry land was very spot on in that moment. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He must've misheard. "You- You're- What!?"

"Soft. I'm soft."

"Whoever put into your head that that's a bad thing will get their butt handed to them. By me. Personally." There was a fire in Crowley's eyes that Aziraphale had never seen. He was slightly worried about what the demon might do.

"I don't think that will be necessary, my dear." He gently touched Crowley's forearm. The demon's eyes snapped to the angel's and immediately softened.

"But you deserve so much better."

"I know. But they're not worth it."

"You took being demoted several ranks…"

"Well, it was more of a promotion, to be frank." Aziraphale was suddenly looking everywhere but Crowley.

Crowley stopped mid-rant. He fixated Aziraphale with his gaze. The angel was nervously fidgeting. He was hiding something. Or at least trying to.

"What are you not telling me?" Crowley narrowed his eyes. It then caught up to him what the angel had said. "Wait… A promotion?"

"Eh, yes. The Almighty saw it as a promotion for me." He still refused to look at Crowley, making the demon in turn determined to get to the bottom of it.

"You're telling me that you went into a _lower_ rank and that was a promotion? Honestly?"

"I went from bodyguard of the Almighty to protector of humanity. That is quite a step up in my books." Aziraphale still wouldn't meet Crowley's eyes.

"True, that is better. But there still is something you're not telling me."

"No, no. Of course not. Why would I hold something back from you?"

"Aziraphale!" That cut right through the nervous air around him. He stared at Crowley like a deer in the headlights. "What are you not telling me?"

Aziraphale fought with himself until he finally gave in with a moan. "You remember after the crucifixion I… well, we kind of ended up together everywhere we went?"

Crowley nodded, trying to remember. They indeed did end up in Britain together and really had been in the same vicinity quite frequently, even for Britain.

"Well, Heaven kind of noticed you going off with Jesus and wanted to…" Aziraphale got up and started to pace around.

Crowley got a dark thought. "They- They sent you after me?"

"I didn't want it. But they were quite insistent in the old days and I couldn't say no. You have to understand…" He wrung his hands. "They thought you were a threat."

Crowley was stunned and remained silent for a long time, staring at the tabletop, a plethora of emotions running over his face, fighting for dominance.

"Crowley, please, say something…" Aziraphale pleaded.

Crowley looked at him and got up. "Angel, I…" He backed away and almost knocked over the chair. "I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. But… All this time I thought… And you just did your bloody job. That's what you were doing. Damage control. Containment." Anger flared up in him.

"Crowley, please, just let me explain…"

"What is there to explain? The Arrangement and everything you did was just a means to an end. Good job, you contained the demon." Crowley stalked to the door, grasping the handle he stopped, deflating. "And here I thought you really liked me for me and maybe cared about me." He whispered and opened the door to vanish into the crowd.

Aziraphale remained, rooted to the spot and didn't know what to do. He had really made a mess of things this time. "Oh… Fuck."


	6. The Worst Part: No One Else to Blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank all that have taken time to comment... it really means the world to humble old me.
> 
> This is a bit more Crowley introspection than I initially planned. And also more like stream of consciousness written. 
> 
> The title is from 'Breathe Me' by Sia.

Crowley didn't feel so good. His insides were hurting or was that his heart?

Oh, dear, did he have a heart attack? He couldn't discorporate now. Hell would surely let him rot somewhere in a dark and damp corner.

No, no, of course he wasn't having a heart attack. His corporeal form wasn't able to have one. Like he didn't need to breathe, he technically didn't need to have a heartbeat. Still, he did both. Heartbeat and breathing.

Anyway, there was a dull ache inside him that he had since he had left the bookshop. He tried his best to consequently ignore it. Sometimes that worked better and sometimes it didn't work at all. Especially in the quiet moments it snuck up on him and made him acutely aware of what he'd left behind.

But he wouldn't, couldn't, go back and face Aziraphale. Not after the utter betrayal. He had really thought that he and whatever their weird relation was mattered to the angel. Especially after they stopped Armageddon together and were now effectively on their own side.

Did he not prove himself to be trustworthy time and time again? Did he not go out of his way for the angel's happiness and well-being? Was he not trying to be someone better because that's what he thought the angel always wanted?

Still, this had apparently all been a ruse to keep him from his true potential. Of course, he had done evil things in the past, but frankly those had been more of minor or major inconveniences. Things that annoyed people and made them more susceptible to evil temptations.

Naturally, he could do things the old-fashioned way and tempt one soul individually at a time to secure it for Hell, but it just wasn't his style. He liked to cause mayhem and enjoy the show. Like giving people real guns and letting them miraculously escape death. Killing people was easy, making them the seed of evil and letting them spread it was the hard thing. But Crowley loved a challenge and for all his air of laziness he did indeed like to get his hands a little dirty sometimes.

After all, the relocation of the M25 was no easy feat on its own. It had required lots of skills and late nights.

Though nowadays he hadn't much to do anymore. Everything he comes up with pales in comparison to what the humans come up with.

He kept himself entertained with inconveniencing people on a more personal level. Two days ago, he sat in a Starbucks and made rude customers spill their drinks on themselves in the most embarrassing ways.

Or just yesterday, he was hanging around in a supermarket and made the chip and pin machines decline every card of people that were impatient and snappy. And if someone decided to be an even greater annoyance, he'd made their shopping bags rip and everything in it break on the floor. He had to leave after he'd laughed out loud at one person that had bought a big jar of pickles and it broke in such a way that the pickle juice drenched their expensive leather shoes, effectively ruining them for good.

But all that couldn't fill the hole he had ripped into his soul himself. He knew that he was the only one to blame for his misery.

He could've reacted differently. He could've let Aziraphale explain himself before he stormed out. But the weight of the last few years, specially the stress of the last week before the supposed Armageddon, had become too much for him.

And anyway, why should he be to blame for everything that went wrong in their lives? Aziraphale had lied to him before. Why wouldn't he be lying now?

_Because he isn't a part of Heaven's doctrine anymore._ A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered to him.

_Doesn't change his character._ He whispered back, desperate for him to be wrong and right at the same time.

He couldn't make up his mind. Did he want it to be true that Aziraphale had been lying about it all and possibly get his heart shattered into a million pieces? Or did he want it to be something he was wrong about? Something that was just as Aziraphale had said; something without an ulterior motive on the angel's part.

Crowley was turning in circles again. The last few weeks without Aziraphale had been rough. And his mental state wasn't improving. Not even yelling at his plants gave him any kind of satisfaction.

By now he opted to try to just sleep. Maybe he could just sleep through the century and it would've all gone to rubble. The political climate for that to happen was decidedly right.

He had just one problem: he was a demon with an imagination.

That meant he dreamt. And in his current state his dreams, usually about lush gardens and open skies, turned to nightmares about losing everything again, fire and brimstone, and, worst of all, Aziraphale being burned in hellfire by Heaven.

He had almost rushed to Soho a few times after especially gruesome nightmare to make sure the angel was still alright. He always stopped himself in the last second though, firmly reminding himself that it wasn't his place to look after the angel and that Aziraphale had only used him for something or other. What exactly that should've been was something Crowley didn't dwell on much. He had made up his mind, he told himself. 'The angel didn't care, so why should he?', was another thing he liked to tell himself. It didn't make it anymore true, whenever he said it.

And his heart was a traitor in his chest that always murmured something about _nice_ and _gentle_, _caring_ and _thoughtful_, and, most annoyingly, _love_.

Pfft… he didn't love Aziraphale. No, absolutely not. Angels were beings of love, Aziraphale especially so, and they projected this love onto everything and everyone around them. After 6,000 years with the angel his natural defenses were just wearing a little thin, that's all.

At least that was what he tried to tell himself, fully believing if he just said it enough, he could will it to be the truth. Except that little annoying voice in him kept saying something about love being stronger than anything. Even being stronger than a very powerful demon with an impressive imagination.

Crowley groaned and let himself fall back onto his mattress again. This was getting him nowhere. Maybe he should just give up, go to Hell and ask for his job back. They would decidedly not be happy to see him and probably torture him extensively.

But right now, Hell's torture sounded more appealing to him than the personal hell he had maneuvered himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want, you can also hit me up over on tumblr: [wolfthatroamsshadows](https://wolfthatroamsshadows.tumblr.com/)


	7. The Past is a Curious Thing

They had parted on less than amicable circumstances before. Of course, they had. They had stood on opposing sides for most their time on Earth.

Still, nothing before could've prepared Aziraphale for the pain and loneliness he felt after Crowley had left.

He had kept himself busy the last few weeks with bookshop business and especially with his meticulously made taxes. It was that time of year again.

Yet, when he had finished, there was not much else to do. And his mind grew restless.

He was rearranging books on the shelves and his mind kept whispering _He's not coming back._

He sat down to lose himself in a book and his mind kept pushing in, saying _He's never coming back._

So, it came to pass that one afternoon, after weeks had passed, a lonely angel sat at a table, his head buried in his hands, and asked the only authority he still had, namely himself, _Why?_

Why did it all go wrong? Why didn't he tell Crowley about it earlier? Why had he told him in the first place?

But most importantly, he asked himself: Why don't I go over to Crowley's and try to make things right?

If Aziraphale was nothing else, he was methodical. He had lined up the questions in his mind and was set on answering every last one and all the ones that might still arise.

So, why did it all go wrong?

Because he told Crowley about his assignment. The one thing he had gotten from a higher authority back in the old days. Back before the archangels, or more precisely Gabriel, took over the executive side of things. Heaven had really turned into an unimaginative corporate nightmare. Aziraphale was glad that he hadn't to deal with all the paperwork anymore.

Anyway, the assignment. It was really something that he himself had been surprised by. It had been stated that he should thwart the demon on Earth but not smite him. Did his superiors know that Crowley and he had met before and he had never even tried so much as to threaten Crowley?

Aziraphale mentally stumbled for a moment. Why did he never threaten Crowley? Or try to smite him for that matter?

They had met a few times before he had gotten the assignment. He could've easily attacked Crowley then. But he never did.

On the wall, their first meeting, he didn't even think anything bad about the demon. And Crowley, still Crawly back then, did nothing in turn to show any sign of aggression towards him. Maybe they had been both lonely and in need of someone to talk to.

A thousand years later in Mesopotamia, Crowley had greeted him like an old friend. Talked to him without judging him for whatever the Almighty was doing. Only mocked him for his use of _ineffable_. But who was he to say otherwise when God's plans were, well, ineffable?

It was much later that he had fully realized what Crowley had said about the kids. Crowley might be a demon, but he would never kill a kid himself.

Aziraphale liked to think that maybe, just maybe, Crowley had saved a few kids. It was such a thing that would be explainable to his Head Office. Saving kids that the Almighty had forsaken; going against Heaven's will. Aziraphale really liked to believe that.

He still had not even held a hint of aggression towards the demon. And so, they had parted on friendly terms again.

Their next meeting that changed things up between them a bit was at Golgotha. It was the meeting right before he had been called in to be given his new task.

Crowley, who had changed his name, stood behind him, but more in a supporting manner than a threatening one. Aziraphale had on some level appreciated the gesture as much as his heavenly duty had shirked away from such a thing.

He had asked, if Crowley knew Jesus and had been genuinely surprised by the answer. Crowley had shown him the world because his travel options had been limited. It had been then that Aziraphale had realized that Crowley wasn't _evil_, in the classical sense. When a demon did what the assigned protector of humanity couldn't, then that was saying something.

In the present, Aziraphale did wonder why he never did get a memo that the son of God was on Earth. It couldn't have been an oversight, surely. It must've been deliberate. They had pestered him in the middle of the South American jungle with memos about the most innate things, so why not something as big as that? Maybe it was all part of some plan after all.

Crowley had seemed so sure about it. He always knew how to ease the angel's worries. Had done so from the start. Aziraphale allowed himself a moment of indulgence to bask in the knowledge that Crowley cared about his emotional state. He clamped down on it quickly again, though. It did him no good to think those thoughts. Crowley was a demon, they were said to be cold and cunning, not caring and thoughtful.

Aziraphale frowned. Where did he get this information actually from? He raked his brain a bit and, without a satisfying answer, decided to look at this question later.

Which in turn brought him back to what he was doing. Trying to find out where it all went wrong.

He turned his mind over to the past again, more precisely to when he got his assignment.

He had been called up to Heaven urgently. No indication had been given as to what it was about.

He had been ushered into a chamber and waited, fully expecting Gabriel and his posse to show up and tell him about one thing or another that they would change in the workplace. He fully expected new paperwork to burden him.

What he didn't expect, in fact it had been the furthest from his mind, was when the door opened and two figures entered. He had recognized them as Cerviel, one of the leaders of the Principalities, and Camael, one of the leaders of the Powers.

They had approached him and greeted him cordially. After that though, they had sworn him to absolute secrecy in the gravest of manners.

Aziraphale had mustered them both and had looked for a trace of something other than heavenly purity. The last time clandestine meetings and secrecy had led to a war. He didn't want to be part of something like that. He had found nothing of the sort and agreed to keep silent on the matter.

They then went on to give him the details of his assignment. He recalled the exchange quite vividly.

_Cerviel had looked at him. "We have an assignment for you. Or more accurately, the Powers have an assignment for you. And Camael here has convinced me to lend you to them."_

_"Oh, what an… honor." Aziraphale was unsure what it all meant. This was all a bit cloak and dagger. _

_"An honor, indeed." Camael continued. "You know about the tempter of Eden?"_

_Aziraphale slightly panicked then. Did they know about his… whatever it was with Crowley? He schooled his features into a neutral expression. "The wily old serpent? Yes, I believe I've heard of him."_

_"Did you ever make contact with him?" Camael questioned, his features unreadable. _

_Now Aziraphale was really panicking internally. "Can't say I have." It wasn't a lie, technically._

_"Well, now is your chance. We want someone to thwart him. Someone to actively work against whatever he's planning. And to possibly find out exactly what it is he's planning."_

_Aziraphale looked from one angel to the other. "Might I enquire as to why?"_

_A shadow flitted across the angels' faces. "He tried to tempt Christ. Naturally, he failed, but still managed to conceal him from us for thirty years."_

_Thirty years? Crowley had spent thirty years showing him the world? And constantly kept them concealed from Heaven? This was the moment that Aziraphale got a first inkling of just how powerful of a demon Crowley was. On the inside he was shaken, but his outside projected appalled horror. _

_"Then why don't we locate him and smite him?" Yes, heavenly rhetoric, safe words to use, repeat what was being told._

_Camael looked at Cerviel and then back at Aziraphale. "Because we want to know how he did it. And why. We want to know what he's planning. Therefore, we need someone to just thwart him. To get closer to him and possibly make contact with him. I don't want to make you any illusions. It won't be easy, and it will definitely be dangerous." Camael's eyes bored into him. "Are you willing to do it?"_

_Aziraphale had looked at the other angels long and hard. Made a thoughtful face and let a bit of fear flitter across it. He had learned to control his corporeal form. Of course, he couldn't _happily_ agree. That would give away his elation at having the chance to be closer to Crowley than before and to have a front for it._

_He had enjoyed their meetings, albeit the circumstances could've been better. But with this opportunity their meetings could maybe have better circumstances. _

_So, Aziraphale hardened his eyes and steeled his voice. "I will do it." He nodded affirmatively._

_And so it was set into motion._

_Aziraphale only realized much later that the reports he had to write from now on had to have even more dubious meaning and plausible deniability, for the assignment was only to be known to him, Cerviel and Camael. Otherwise, they had given him free reign, as long as he completed the assignment._

_He had started to actively track Crowley then and had located him in Rome eight years later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more or less full of little things that I headcanon.  
Also, because Aziraphale overthinks things a lot, this will be in more than one chapter. 
> 
> If anyone wants to yell at me about headcanons or how ineffably cute Aziraphale and Crowley are... come into my askbox or drop me a DM [here](https://wolfthatroamsshadows.tumblr.com/).


	8. All the Roads That Lead You There Were Winding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a line from 'Wonderwall' by Oasis.
> 
> I'm sorry... this is still history from Aziraphale's point of view. I couldn't get him to shut up. And he'll still be going on about it in the next chapter. But good news, we're already in 1793. So it shouldn't take that much longer. (Or I'll personally discorporate the bastard. :) ) *author ducks out of view*

Aziraphale had fond memories of Rome. The food had been good, and the culture had been a delight, if you knew where to go. And Crowley had been there.

He might've said he just nipped in for a quick temptation, but he'd been there for a bit when Aziraphale made himself known to him.

He had observed Crowley for a while and had figured out the demon's habits. Which were utterly unimpressive, to say the least. Most days the demon would get up in the morning, then duck into a tavern and get drunk off his ass.

Aziraphale had worried a bit about Crowley. What had happened that caused such a dramatic change? It couldn't still be the Jesus thing, could it? Or maybe Crowley had been reprimanded at work. Caligula had just been assassinated after all and that had been an appalling fellow. Maybe Crowley's bosses didn't like that.

When he had approached Crowley in the tavern, he had been surprised by the demon's apparent surprise. He hadn't exactly hidden his heavenly aura in the hope that Crowley would approach him again. Plausible deniability and all that. It had failed him, so he had taken action.

He admittedly had been nervous like a schoolboy on their first date, which was utterly ridiculous since he had been neither a schoolboy nor had this been a first date.

The sentence 'Still a demon then?' haunted him until now. Crowley had brought it up time and time again just to tease him. After a while, Aziraphale had only answered with 'Not an aardvark though.'

Nevertheless, Crowley's comment that he'd never eaten an oyster was an opening that he had used to get this unlikely thing on the proverbial road.

They had lunched at Petronius' restaurant that day. Crowley had payed, although it had been Aziraphale who had invited him. And, in hindsight, that had probably started their weird lunch habit.

Aziraphale had gotten a few things out of Crowley about where the demon was headed next. Apparently, he had been travelling north with the expansion of the Roman Empire. Lots of fun to be had on the way.

Aziraphale had followed Crowley for the most part and only lost him a couple of times. In those times people had still been fearing their gods mostly, so it had been easier to scent the evil aura of the demon. Nowadays, he was just so familiar with how Crowley's aura smelled that he could probably even find him in Hell itself.

But back then there was still a good deal of mistrust on both sides.

So, basically what Aziraphale had been doing was travelling through Europe, always following Crowley and occasionally trying to predict where he would end up, always thwarting whatever Crowley was doing. Or on the rare occasion Aziraphale predicted correctly and ended up somewhere first, he did his good deeds and then let Crowley thwart those.

They naturally crossed paths multiple times. They then nodded at each other in passing or, more accurately, their version of it: having lunch with each other and swapping stories.

That was until they arrived in Wessex. Aziraphale had taken up the guise of a knight fighting for King Arthur. He had never actually met the fellow. That had also been the reason why he had been going around as Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round, instead of the 'Round Table'.

He had noticed a Black Knight spreading terror springing up in the local chatter and because he had recently lost Crowley's trail and was looking for clues to find him again, he had investigated.

He had fully expected the Black Knight to be a human that had been tempted or employed by Crowley. But it to be Crowley himself had been quite the surprise.

It had been then that Crowley had first suggested the Arrangement. Aziraphale had been appalled by it. He couldn't possibly do something like that. Free reign from his superiors or not.

He had recently been called in for a meeting with Gabriel and his group of archangels. They had incessantly questioned him about his travels and what kind of miracles he performed, who he blessed, why he never smote any demons. It had been a tiring reminder that Heaven was changing and he couldn't tell the archangels about his assignment.

Still, he had thought about what Crowley had proposed. It had the potential to end this cat and mouse thing they had going on. Maybe this was his opportunity to get closer to Crowley. Aziraphale always had his assignment on his mind whenever he had met with him, but more in an annoying manner that meant he'd have to glean something from him that his superiors were happy with the next time they asked. Fortunately, they usually had been content with _I'm getting closer_ and _He's not suspecting a thing_.

Thus, when their paths crossed again a few centuries later, around the year 1020, Aziraphale had _casually_ agreed to the Arrangement over dessert. Crowley had almost fallen out of his seat. That alone had made it all seem worth the risk.

Aziraphale had still occasionally worried that if the archangels were to ever find out about the Arrangement, there would be hell to pay or worse. He had always banished that thought to the deepest, darkest corner of his mind, hopefully never to be thought again.

The Arrangement had another nice side effect, besides them having to spend more time together to coordinate reports, they could settle down and make themselves a little base of operations. Since they had been mucking about in Britain at the time, they gravitated to London and set up shop there. Although Aziraphale's bookshop shouldn't appear until much later.

They both began influencing leaders on the side but more importantly they talked to each other, and drank, and then talked some more. And during all this time they spent with each other, they grew closer and formed some kind of companionship, maybe even something that bordered on friendship.

They still didn't meet very often and went without a meeting for decades sometimes.

Aziraphale always held himself back. He wouldn't even remotely have been able to explain away the meetings. Crowley could always say he was tempting an angel and possibly get off with a slap on the wrist or another bloody commendation. Except, of course, if they had found out about the nature of the Arrangement.

Yet, Aziraphale enjoyed and treasured their meetings. He was always happy to have a reason to see the demon.

And he'll never forget how Crowley had made Hamlet a success. Just for him. It had been a personal favor, nothing to do with the Arrangement.

And it had made Aziraphale incredibly happy, when Crowley had shown up at his door upon his return from Edinburgh the following week and taken him to the Globe to see Hamlet with him in a fully packed theater. They had smiled and laughed and afterwards they had talked the night away over several bottles of fine wine and other spirits.

After they had gone their separate ways again, Aziraphale had been terribly conflicted. The developments in his relation with Crowley were a double-edged sword.

His superiors would be elated that he finally had gained the apparent trust of the demon and could now possibly extract the information they wished for. To be honest, he could've asked Crowley about that probably one and a half millennia ago and gotten the answer. But he knew that once his superiors had what they wanted, they would most likely order him to smite Crowley. And that thought had pained Aziraphale somewhere in his being that he didn't wish to dwell upon. So he didn't.

On the other hand, the archangels had taken over the executive side of things and were very much differently minded. If they were to get even a whiff of what he was doing with Crowley, they would not only destroy Crowley but probably set his Fall into motion. Although going by recent events, they would've probably just destroyed him as well.

Present day Aziraphale sighed deeply and moved for the first time in what he presumed to be days. At least going by the amount of dust that rained down when he drew his hand frustratedly through his hair.

All this dwelling on the past had made him hungry. He should go out and get a bite. Maybe some crêpes for old times' sake.

He remembered Paris and the Bastille as he put his coat on. If there wouldn't have been a revolution going on, one could almost say that it had been quite romantic how Crowley had saved him.

His capture had been meticulously planned though; he had been in no real danger at any point.

Aziraphale smiled at the memories coming back to him and locked the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, if the tenses in this have been all over the place. English is not my native language and tenses are hard. Especially when you do grammar by feel.


	9. The Things Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. This chapter was a little harder to write and I'm still not as happy with it as I could be, but it is finished.   
Updates might get a little more infrequent because I'll go back to work on Monday. Although I think this story is almost finished. Emphasis on 'I think'.   
But now, without further rambling, read further things about the past and Aziraphale's part in it.

Aziraphale sat in his favorite crêperie in London and, looking at a drawing of the Bastille, savored every bite. Crêpes were at the top of his list of favorite foods.

Right up there with sushi and gravlax with dill sauce, although some sandwiches were also strong contenders for that list. Or tiramisù and crème brûlée.

He was getting sidetracked. His eyes fell on the drawing on the wall again. There were a few inaccuracies, but more imploringly the memories of his time being held there came to mind.

He smiled because he had had really niftily planned it.

Back then he had kept his senses tuned into Crowley so as not to lose him and having to explain why the demon had suddenly wreaked havoc across Europe and he didn't do anything to stop him.

Aziraphale had followed the developments in France with concern but knew for a fact it couldn't have been Crowley's doing. The demon had been in London the whole period in which the revolution brew together.

And then Crowley had disappeared. To Paris, of all things. Could that demon have any more of a worse timing? Aziraphale was trying to open a bookshop, for Heaven's sake.

Naturally, Aziraphale had assumed the worst, Crowley had popped over there to stir even more chaos, and had followed the demon. He had kept a low profile to not alert Crowley to his presence and tailed him around a bit. Was Crowley sightseeing? Hell had probably given him a commendation again. Aziraphale knew of Crowley's habit to get those although not doing anything at all. He'd really needed to get Crowley back over the Channel before Hell found out Crowley knew nothing much about what was going on.

So, Aziraphale dressed himself in the finest aristocratic garb and dropped his low profile. Crowley had halted mid-step so Aziraphale had been sure to have his attention. Then he stepped out into the street, right into the arms of people who would undoubtedly throw him in the Bastille. Alright, his outraged acting might also have been a factor in this ruse.

The chains had been a nice touch. Unnecessary, but a good asset. Aziraphale felt Crowley follow them and knew the demon was hiding, or trying to hide, his aura from him.

And then the executioner came, and time stopped.

Upon seeing Crowley, sitting like that, dressed like _that_. The sight was sinful. Aziraphale couldn't stop himself and shamelessly raked his eyes over Crowley's body.

It would've been a lie, if he were to say he _hadn't_ thought about… things. He had lived amongst humans for almost six thousand years now and some of humanities less savory behaviors did rub off on him. And Crowley had a very fine corporation, no matter its current style.

Their banter had been light and laced with copious amounts of ambiguity. And the unfortunate business with the executioner, well, you couldn't expect to be able to cut off lots of people's heads and not be punished for it.

Their lunch had been something new. Something had changed between them; something they didn't want to acknowledge.

Crowley had picked the restaurant, Aziraphale had payed. Afterwards they teleported back home and said their goodbyes.

A day later, Aziraphale had gotten a note delivered. It simply read: _Sorry. I owe you one._

He had sent back one that read: _You could've told me._

That had started a loose correspondence between them until that fateful day in St James's Park in 1862.

In the present, Aziraphale had finished his meal and was walking aimlessly around. A little walk would do him good, surely.

The whole deal with the holy water had been a mess. In hindsight, he could've reacted differently, less emotional. Come to think of it, Crowley might've done the same thing with their current mess. They both let their emotions get the better of them.

And because of that one emotional outburst they hadn't talked for a solid 79 years. The time of silence had been hard for Aziraphale, he had felt as if he had lost his best friend. Which was ridiculous. They weren't even friends back then, were they? No, just acquaintances. Ships in the night passing each other by.

Aziraphale had sensed Crowley hopping through Europe in the First and Second World War causing mischief. He'd been doing much the same only with good intentions. They hadn't met and hadn't thwarted each other anymore. At least not in the playful way they had done in the past to avert suspicions.

And then there had been the church and the books.

Aziraphale had had anger flare up in him when Crowley had come into the church, though it had quickly dissipated when he had recognized that Crowley was sincere in his motives.

Aziraphale had been deeply touched that Crowley still cared apparently. And it also made him aware that he still cared about Crowley. The demon walked into a church; walked onto consecrated ground; walked into hallowed halls just to save him from embarrassment.

It all came back to them in a heartbeat, their banter and their ambiguous hints to each other.

The moment it had registered with Aziraphale that Crowley had saved his books, had been quite a shock. It meant that Crowley didn't only care about Aziraphale's survival but also about his emotional state. Crowley had saved the books, Aziraphale's books, the ones he had always complained about. He had even accused him of spending more time with his books then thwarting his demonic wiles. It didn't quite make sense to him at the time why Crowley actually wanted his wiles to be thwarted, but that was neither here nor there.

The only coherent thought that had run through his mind as he had stared at Crowley's retreating backside, standing dumbfoundedly in a demolished church ground had been: _I don't want to ever lose him._

Later when Aziraphale had had the time to think things through and analyze what he felt, he had concluded one thing. When Crowley could bear all the pains that came with walking into a hallowed space as a demon, then he could extend that trust to the demon and grant him his request.

The other thing he had concluded was something he wouldn't dare touch for another almost 80 years.

Crowley had said, he'd wanted the holy water as insurance. Maybe it was time to trust Crowley. After all, had he not shown before that he was kind and considerate and thoughtful? He had, and that meant something to Aziraphale.

Yet, the fear that Crowley wanted the holy water to destroy himself in the event that it all went wrong instead of as a weapon, made him hesitate. For several years.

Until he had heard about a guy in dark glasses that would pay good money to rob a church. That could only be one person with one particular thing in mind.

That had been it for him. Aziraphale knew what he had to do.

He had gotten out a bowl and had filled it with water. Then he had put it on the table and had held his hands above the water. He had taken a breath, closed his eyes and softly started intoning: Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Matris omnipotentis…

When he had finished, he had tears brimming behind his eyelids. He had opened his eyes and took a steadying breath. This had been it. The water before him had been holy water. Aziraphale had stared at it for some moments. A lonely tear had slid down his nose and had landed in the water which faintly glowed for a moment and then was just as before. "May my love be enough to protect you."

This water had been as such probably been _the _holiest water on Earth. Aziraphale had poured it into a thermos with a tartan design on it.

He had pressed the flask to his chest. "Please, oh please, don't let him use it for suicide."

Then he'd went out to get Crowley to call off the robbery.

Aziraphale had wanted to play it cool. He'd wanted to stay calm and collected. But all that had flown out the metaphorical window as soon as he looked at Crowley and realized he was sat next to him and he was oh so real. His emotions overwhelmed him.

In the end, he had left Crowley with a promise that maybe some day in the future he'd be ready to face up to his feelings. And maybe, just maybe, some day in the future things wouldn't be so complicated between them and they could possibly fully explore what all this back and forth between them really meant. If Crowley would only be willing to wait.

Aziraphale presently found himself in St James's Park. He didn't know how he'd ended up here of all places. And as soon as he became aware, he made to leave, internally fussing and berating himself on how this could happen to him.

He again didn't pay much attention to where he was going. That was until he collided with another person. He looked up sharply. "Oh, I'm sor- Crowley?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *leans in* Sorry. I'm terribly sorry about the cliffie. *vanishes into hiding again*


	10. A Chance Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is considerably shorter than the ones before for one reason... I hate work. It sucks out all of my creativity immediately. And I sadly can't even recover it on the weekend.   
So, considering the chapter was written in very short bursts over the last three weeks, the quality was accordingly. Quite a mess actually. Had to do a lot more editing than on previous chapters.   
But, well... here we are.   
Enjoy? Leave a comment?

Crowley looked at Aziraphale and scowled. "Are you following me again? Come to finally smite me?"

"Oh, be sensible. If I had wanted to smite you at any point, I would've done so already." Aziraphale was getting angry at Crowley. He didn't know why, though at this point he didn't really care anymore. This whole mess was getting ridiculous, in his opinion.

"You're right, how inconsiderate of me. Smiting me wouldn't fulfill your precious assignment. So, how do you want me? Chained in a dungeon or tied to a pole?" Crowley's voice dripped with contempt and sarcasm.

"Will you get off it?! I didn't care about that blasted assignment in the first place. I only took it, so I had an excuse." Aziraphale was yelling at Crowley. "They just wanted a question answered. I could've given them the answer a very long time ago. Why do you think I didn't?" Before Crowley could answer, Aziraphale continued. "Because it would've been your death sentence. I don't want to be responsible for that and I actually _don't_ want you dead."

Crowley saw how emotionally raw the angel was and that he wasn't lying. But there was still something that Aziraphale wasn't telling him. And that got him riled up and defensive.

So, he yelled right back. "Then why did Gabriel and his angels try to destroy us when you haven't told them what they want to know? Or did they just not care anymore?"

"The archangels don't know about it. They never did." Aziraphale deadpanned.

Crowley's response got stuck in his throat when it registered with him what Aziraphale was saying. He, of course, knew the hierarchy of Heaven, being a fallen angel and all that, but he never considered that Aziraphale _actually_ outranked the archangels. And after the restructure of Heaven, he had simply assumed that Aziraphale was now getting his orders from Gabriel and the others. Or at least it always seemed like that from Aziraphale's moaning about them.

So, his mind decided to helpfully vacate its position and he could only form a 'What?' and his jaw went slack with bewilderment.

"It was a joint thing between Cerviel and Camael. You probably know them." Aziraphale said in a huff. Crowley dumbly nodded along, trying to take in the new information and failing miserably at it. "They approached me after the Crucifixion and wanted me to find out something from you. So, they gave me free reign to basically do whatever I wanted as long as I got the information in the end. Good for the both of us that they don't really know us up there."

"Uhh… Ehh… I… guess…?" Crowley was a little overwhelmed with everything. Every second there were new questions that in turn cascaded into new ones. For example, did Aziraphale really play Heaven for his own interests? And what even were Aziraphale's interests? And, most importantly, what was the blasted question?

Aziraphale looked at Crowley disbelievingly. "Are you even listening to me?" He growled.

Crowley's only response consisted of staring off into the middle distance and making a non-indicative half-hearted grunt.

Aziraphale studied Crowley for a moment. The demon looked completely out of it. Whatever the reason might be, he couldn't risk them being exposed like this. Aziraphale didn't know how much their former head offices still listened in, despite them telling them in no uncertain terms to stay away. Besides, this conversation was not something they should be having in the open anyway.

He needed to get them out of here. Trying to get Crowley to walk with him proved impossible; the demon just didn't move. Aziraphale sighed. Translocating them it was. He was never really proficient at it. It was good enough to get himself somewhere over a short distance but getting them both somewhere was a little more challenging. Especially when one was unwilling to move apparently.

He took Crowley's hand and focused on where to go. He visualized the bookshop as if he were standing in it. And then he visualized Crowley standing next to him. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment and, forcing it out, willed them to their destination. It was all a bit Harry Potter, to be honest.

A mere moment later they were standing in the bookshop. Crowley wobbled a bit next to him. Aziraphale led him over to the sofa and gently pushed him down on it. He was grateful that it was now possible for him to steer Crowley a bit, albeit just by a bit of convincing strength combined with Crowley's seeming daze.

Aziraphale sat down in the chair at his desk and got a slight sense of déjà-vu. He was determined to see it through to the end this time. For that reason he made sure the door was locked with a look at it.

Then he focused his attention on Crowley. This daze was uncharacteristic for the demon. Whatever the reason, he needed to snap him out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of this story actually. I already got an epilogue of sorts planned in my head. ...but I really don't know how many chapters until then... and how long it will take me to get there... Sorry? Anyway... I'll stop rambling now... Bye! Until next time! :)


	11. Communication is Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this an April Fool's joke? No. This story is finally finished. Just this chapter and an epilogue of sorts.   
I apologize for the wait, but I quit my job at the end of last year and have been out of sorts since then. But it's getting better now, no worries.  
The epilogue will come in a few days, after I have typed it up and edited it.  
And now without further waffling...

Aziraphale had unsuccessfully tried to get Crowley to respond for some time, when the demon stirred from his daze.

"What was the question?"

Aziraphale was snapped out of his musings over what else to try. "I beg your pardon?"

"What was the question? You know, the one Heaven so desperately wanted answered."

"Uhh…" This was not how Aziraphale saw this going down.

"It must be a very important question otherwise they wouldn't have bothered with waiting for over 2,000 years for an answer. I imagine they would've gotten a little impatient with you after the first millennia. So, what is it they want to know?"

Aziraphale mentally steeled himself for what might happen. He had no idea, if his former superiors listened in. But one thing he knew for certain: If they tried to hurt Crowley they had to go through him first. And he wouldn't make it an easy fight.

"Nothing important really." One warning glare from Crowley was enough to make Aziraphale speak the whole truth. "They believe you had hidden Christ from them for thirty years."

"Nonsense. I did no such thing." Crowley burst out. "I might have shown him around the world, but I have never hidden him."

"Then why couldn't Heaven locate him?"

"Maybe they should've asked the Almighty for help?" Crowley shrugged his shoulders. "After all, he was Her chosen pet project."

"You really think She would do such a thing?"

"I don't think anything in that matter. I just wouldn't put it past Her."

Crowley looked openly into Aziraphale's face. When he was being honest with himself, he had missed the angel.

"Oh, for crying out loud, put your worry away. It's not good for your complexion."

"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale was thrown by that non-sequitur.

"You're worrying. It shows on your face. It'll cause wrinkles." Crowley pointed out.

"Oh, excuse me for worrying about things." Aziraphale flared up.

"I just- You know what? I don't wanna fight. You finally got your answer. If Heaven ever comes knocking, you can tell them what I told you."

"I doubt they ever will."

"I **hope** they never will. Same with Hell. If I never have to see them again, it will be too soon." That drew a chuckle from Aziraphale. The mood finally shifted.

"You really never wanted to smite me?" Crowley asked hesitantly. He needed to know.

"Never, dear. You never threatened me, so I never had any reason to." Aziraphale smiled openly.

"You really aren't like other angels."

"Perhaps. But you aren't like other demons either. Maybe that's the reason why Heaven and Hell didn't understand why there was no need for a war; why humanity is a good thing." They lapsed into silence for a while.

"You know…" Crowley started, looking at the floor. "I had a lot of time to think and I realized one thing." He extended his hand towards Aziraphale, asking.

Aziraphale got up and took the offered hand, sitting down next to Crowley on the sofa.

"What did you realize?" Aziraphale whispered.

"I lost so much in my existence that I cared about. But if there is something, or better said someone, I don't ever want to lose, it is you." Crowley tightened the grip on Aziraphale's hand but steadfastly refused to look anywhere but the floor.

"Oh, Crowley…" Aziraphale's heart grew. "I don't want to lose you either. We've been through so much together. And…" Aziraphale looked at Crowley's profile and waited for him to look up. Crowley didn't, though.

"Please, look at me, Crowley." He looked up for a short moment but as he wanted to turn away again, he was stopped by Aziraphale's hand gently resting on his cheek. That got Crowley's attention. Aziraphale smiled and continued. "And if I had to spend eternity with one person, that person would be you."

"You really mean that? Eternity is very long after all." Crowley nevertheless leaned into Aziraphale's hand.

"Our pasts are our pasts. They weren't our own. But now we have freedom and out futures are ours to take. And I want to spend mine with you." Aziraphale looked away shyly and whispered. "If you'll have me."

Crowley was at a loss for words. Was the angel really saying what he thought he was saying? "I'm not the easiest person to be around. I have times when I don't want to be around myself."

"I know. And I'll be there for you. I'll just expect you to talk to me and not run when it gets rough."

"I will try my utmost. I won't promise there won't be times when I'll fail, but I will give my best to always be there for you, too."

And so, the Angel of the Eastern Gate and the Original Tempter decided to make each other their world and to not worry about what others thought they should be.


	12. Epilogue - A Rainy Night in Soho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the last chapter of this little thing!  
It has been a ride to finish it but it has been a good ride, for the most part.   
If you enjoyed it leave a Kudo or even a comment saying how nice the flowers smell this time of year.   
...or something. Anyway... enough prattling on, I'll leave you to read.

It had been several, several decades since their decision.

In all that time neither Heaven nor Hell had in any way interfered in their lives.

They had watched their friends grow up and mourned the deaths of many. They had seen how they got sorted into Heaven, though some into Hell.

Except for Adam and the Them. It had been a curious thing. Adam was the first to go. Aziraphale and Crowley had been there.

_Death had come in his visible form and Adam had greeted him like an old friend. He had gotten up and stood, supported by an angel and a demon on either side, before Death._

_Death had looked upon him and had given him a choice, Heaven or Hell. _

_But Adam, the scheming lad, had surprised them all by making an entirely different suggestion. He had asked Death, one leader of a group to another, if it wasn't time to bring a bit of balance into the world. Powers of Life, Peace, Abundance and Conservation. _

_Death had stood for long moments and seemed to ponder the idea. Then he asked why._

_And Adam simply said: "Because humanity deserves a chance." _

_Death seemed to smile and said: "So be it." _

_And one by one, when their time had come, the Them were transformed into balancing powers._

And through all this Aziraphale and Crowley's admiration and love for each other only grew stronger.

It had made Aziraphale incredibly happy, when Crowley had finally accepted and moved into the bookshop.

Aziraphale had miracled some living quarters adjacent to the shop. Complete with a bedroom, a small cozy kitchen and a conservatory for Crowley's plants.

The first time Aziraphale had witnessed Crowley 'talking' to his plants, he had rushed into the room ready for a fight. Afterwards, when they lounged around, Aziraphale had remarked that Crowley shouldn't scare the poor plants as much. Crowley had only rhetorically asked, how else they would grow. Aziraphale had chuckled and when Crowley had looked at him with a totally confused look, he had burst out laughing. In hindsight, it had been worth Crowley's two days of sulking.

After that whenever Aziraphale passed the plants he made sure to tell them how good they all looked and once, after Crowley had been especially hard on them, he secretly told them they didn't need to fear death by shredder, for they had none and anyway he would make sure that Crowley wouldn't do such a cruel thing anymore. The plants had been visibly relieved. And after a while, Crowley did indeed become nicer to his plants.

Some decades into their living together, Aziraphale had expressed that he was getting a little bored and Crowley had suggested that he should see if the university or some school might be interested in a history teacher or something.

Crowley had watched Aziraphale all but tutor some students from university on matters of history and religion. Maybe it had its advantages when one had been on Earth since the beginning.

Aziraphale had thought it a splendid idea and had applied at the university for a lecturing position. He didn't intend on it being something he would seriously pursue but after the university had seen his qualifications, with which he had gone a bit overboard when he had created them, they made him a full-time professor. And after a while he always came home happy after the lectures.

Sometimes though, very rarely, he came home a little sad. On those times, one of his students had failed or left the university or they were having personal problems and didn't want any help.

When it was an especially bad thing where Aziraphale couldn't help and it was weighing heavy on him, the weather reacted. On these occasions, a thunderstorm brewed, the wind howled through the streets and rain would come down in sheets. Then Crowley always greeted Aziraphale with a long hug and afterwards made him a cup of hot cocoa and just let him talk. Later on, Crowley would tell Aziraphale about some hilarious mischief he had caused one time or another. It never failed to lift Aziraphale's spirits.

Over the years, Aziraphale had adopted the habit of sleeping occasionally, after he couldn't figure something out and Crowley had insisted on it. He woke up feeling refreshed and with new energy and the solution suddenly became clear to him.

Sometimes he woke up to a ginger lady silently sitting by the bed. The first time it happened, he was a little confused but quickly realized that it was just another part of Crowley he didn't know about. And just because Aziraphale himself preferred to constantly present as a male didn't mean that Crowley would have to do the same. Crowley had bashfully looked at the floor and Aziraphale had gotten out of bed, taken Crowley's hands in his and silently shown his support for whichever form Crowley chose.

And although it seemed like their lives with each other were always easy, they did fight occasionally. They yelled and raged and stormed out, but in the end, they came back and apologized to each other and tried to find a compromise.

They constantly learned about the other and didn't let the past get in their way or worried too much about the future.

And, most importantly, they never regretted for one second their decision for freedom.


End file.
